


Negotiations

by quokkall



Category: NCIS
Genre: AU, F/M, Meet-Cute, Retirement Home, TIVA - Freeform, aunt nettie - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-19 00:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10627938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quokkall/pseuds/quokkall
Summary: One shot, Tony and Ziva meet cute AU, inspired by the prompt: Our grandparents are in the same nursing home and they hate each other AU





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks @aksannyi for suggesting Aunt Nettie and one of Tony’s uncles instead of their grandparents. Reference to 5x08 Designated Target.

She came seemingly out of nowhere, a whirlwind of dark curls, and rushed words in a language he didn’t understand.

He stopped in the middle of the retirement home parking lot to stare at her as she got into a bright red Mini, still talking on her phone.

Well, that’s not safe.

The car tore out of the parking spot, tires screeching. He jumped two feet out of the way, probably unnecessarily, but why take any chances.

Well, that’s even less safe.

He was about to head for the entrance, when out of the corner of his eye he saw something where the Mini had been mere seconds ago. He walked over and picked up a scarf, bringing it up to his nose.

Shea butter, nice.

Uncle Vinny was happy to see him when he entered the senior’s tiny living space a minute later. When Tony told him about the exotic fury that had nearly ran him off his feet, the old man nodded at the scarf Tony was running through his fingers, and said, “More like swept you off your feet.”

“DiNozzo men don’t get swept off their feet,” Tony countered, absentmindedly wondering what type of wool the soft scarf was made off.

“They do”, his uncle replied as his gaze landed on the black and white picture of his late wife. “But only once.”

Uncle Vinny looked at him knowingly and Tony balked at the notion. After all, he didn’t believe in love at first sight. Now lust at first sight, that he was very familiar with.

Tony put the scarf in his coat pocket somewhat self-consciously—making a mental note to drop it off with the receptionist on his way out—and steered the conversation in a different direction; his uncle’s new mahjong partner.

A week later, when Tony returned, his uncle was still adjusting to life in a retirement home after breaking his hip a month ago. And with Senior who knows where, charming the pants off of who knows who, Tony was the only family member who lived close enough to help the old man settle in.

He crossed the parking lot, two hours earlier than last week, and scanned the parked cars. Force of habit, he told himself. He was absolutely not looking for a red Mini. Not at all.

Whereas last week Uncle Vinny was gushing over his mahjong partner, mostly about her looks because they had barely talked at that point, this week he didn’t have a good word to say about her. She was stubborn, arrogant, and didn’t laugh at his jokes because English wasn’t her first language.

Yeah, Tony thought remembering his uncle’s sense of humor, that’s why she’s not laughing.

He loved his uncle, but when it came to equal rights and gender roles, the man was sixty years behind. And yes, Tony’s coworkers had accused him of being a sexist pig once or twice, but at least he thought of women as being equal. Even if his words didn’t always come out right and his looks occasionally lingered too long.

Tony said goodbye an hour later, and perked up when serendipity swooped in through the sliding doors of the lobby, wearing a gray coat with bright red lining. The dark curls were tamed in a simple ponytail, instead of flying in her face, which gave him a clearer view of just how beautiful she was.

The receptionist called the woman’s name as she breezed by her desk.  Ziva—he repeated the name in his head—turned around so fast at the sound that her coat swirled around her, revealing more of the daring red lining, and…cargo pants?

He slowed down to an amble so leisurely, a local resident with a walker politely asked him to move aside.

Tony tilted his head as he took her in. Practical boots, cargo pants—too bad her coat wasn’t waist length, she moved as if she was very fit and he’d love to get a glimpse of her…oh right, that was why his coworkers called him a sexist pig.

He narrowed his eyes at the small of her back when she leaned over the counter to take something from the receptionist. That bulge could only mean one thing, and it had nothing to do with her anatomy.

At that exact moment, both women turned towards him

Ziva smiled and walked up to him, loosely hanging the scarf around her neck. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

 If he hadn’t just found out she was carrying a gun, he would’ve turned on the usual DiNozzo charm. But he had, it was there to be seen by anyone. Well, anyone who knew how to look for a concealed weapon.

“I’d thank you for not running me over with your car when you raced out of the parking lot, but I have my infallible reflexes to thank for that.”

She offered a bemused smile, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes . “It’s important to keep you on your toes.”

“Not as important as keeping them.”

She laughed. Not a dainty, ladylike laugh, but a full belly laugh. One that sent a tingle down his spine. One that he really wanted to hear again.

He couldn’t help but smile, and when she took a step to walk past him, he pointed at her scarf, saying “Is it alpaca? It’s very soft.”

She ran a hand over the scarf, and said, “I am certain my aunt knows.” Ziva pointed down the hallway, presumably to where her aunt’s room was. “She has taken up crocheting now that her daughter and son-in-law have moved out west, to his hometown.”

“That must be difficult for her,” Tony said, trying to keep her talking. So he could figure out why she was carrying a concealed weapon, not because he liked the sound of her voice and accent, or anything.

Ziva merely shrugged nonchalantly, nodded goodbye and walked past him, her eyes drifting down his body.

And when they locked gazes again as she moved further away from him, it was clear she had seen the bulge of his own gun underneath his jacket. And when she was halfway down the hall, he realized that that flicker of recognition on her face hadn’t been the one usually shared among officers of the law. That flicker had been full of suspicion.

And that tingle that had gone down his spine earlier, now spread all over his body.

Two days later he got a call from the retirement home; if he could come over, his uncle was being unreasonable.

Gibbs had let him go with a curt nod, which didn’t surprise Tony; family was important to the boss.

He crossed the retirement home parking lot and felt a flutter in his stomach when he caught sight of gray and red billowing in the wind. A smile played on his lips as the woman he had been thinking—and dreaming—about for the past two days, turned and headed for the entrance as well.

They closed the distance between them and walked through the sliding doors together. She was talking animatedly on the phone, and only acknowledged his presence with a tight smile.

Lingering a step behind her, his gaze drifted down her body.

Ziva stopped abruptly, covered the phone with her hand, narrowed her eyes and said, “Are you checking out my ass?”

Caught off guard, he almost said yes. “No, I was checking for your gun.”

Her gaze bored into his and for a second he felt extremely uncomfortable. But then she continued her phone conversation in Hebrew—he had looked it up—and pushed open her coat, revealing her gun, and, well…it took some effort to keep his grin in check when he noticed his earlier assumption about her fitness level had been correct.

Ziva continued walking down the hallway and he followed suit. She turned to him again. “How do you tell someone you want to break up with them?”

An odd question to ask a stranger, but Tony had helped out female friends in similar situations. He grabbed the phone from her, told whoever was at the other end that he was her husband and threw a handful of threats through the receiver.

“You’re welcome,” he said smiling brightly, ending the call and handing her back her phone.

Ziva gaped at him incredulously. “That was my Aunt Nettie. She’s having trouble with her mahjong partner.”

Tony cringed. That had completely backfired.

Wait, mahjong partner?

She was still staring at him wide eyed, when a heavily accented voice drifted down the hallway towards them. “Ziva, I thought I heard your voice.”

“Aunt Nettie,” Ziva said, then gave him a murderous glare.

Aunt Nettie clasped her hands in front of her chest as she walked closer, smiling widely. When she reached both of them, she threw her arms around Ziva, kissing her on the cheek.

“Why did you not tell me you are married?” The old woman took a step back, then patted them both on the cheek. “You make such a lovely couple.”

“We are not married,” Ziva rushed to say. “I do not know him, he merely found my scarf.” She had grabbed hold of the ends of said scarf and was gesticulating wildly.

“Oh, _him_ ,” Aunt Nettie said knowingly with a twinkle in her eyes.

He gave Ziva a lopsided grin. Clearly she had talked to her aunt about him, and she had made more than an offhanded comment about him returning her scarf.

She was about to protest when he heard his uncle call his name behind him.

Tony and Ziva both turned in his direction. Vinny’s gaze landed on Ziva, and Tony felt slightly awkward seeing the trademark DiNozzo smile appear on his wrinkled face.

Was he going to end up alone, in a retirement home, smiling lecherously at women young enough to be his daughter?

When Uncle Vinny saw the scarf around Ziva’s neck, his eyes went wide, “Oh, you must be Ziva.”

Ziva met Tony’s gaze and smirked as he crossed his arms over his chest.

The awkward moment quickly passed when his uncle noticed Aunt Nettie. “What are you talking to her for?” He demanded.

“Uncle Vinny-“

“That awful man is your uncle?” Aunt Nettie said, pointing a bony finger at him.

“Aunt Nettie-“ Ziva began in a calm tone.

“That witch is your aunt?”

“Hey,” Tony said loudly, giving his uncle a stern look. This was supposed be a retirement home, not kindergarten.

“You cannot date him, Zivaleh.”

Ziva hunched her shoulders and with an exasperated expression said, “I am not dating him.”

Uncle Vinny felt personally offended at that. “First you call me a sexist baboon, and now you’re telling me my nephew’s not good enough for your niece?”

“Sexist _baboon_?” Tony wondered aloud.

While the two seniors hurled insults at each other, Tony and Ziva looked at each other, unsure of what to do.

“I know an FBI negotiator from work,” Ziva said.

Huh, Tony thought, didn’t have her pegged as FBI. “Why don’t we put a pin in that.”

“Wouldn’t that get us arrested?”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “What? Look, I’m sure we can talk our way out of this conflict.”

Ziva rolled her eyes. “Talking your way out of conflict takes too long.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, unsure whether he wanted to know how she usually resolved conflicts. He turned his attention to their bickering relatives and whistled with his fingers.

“Why don’t we go to the cafeteria, grab a cup of coffee, scratch that, a cup of calming tea, and talk this through.”

“I’ll tell you what the –“

Tony shushed his uncle with a raised hand a glare, then led the way to the cafeteria.

He wasn’t entirely sure how it happened, but half an hour later he watched Ziva roll her eyes, then cover her face with both hands, only to run them through her messy curls seconds later, a look of exasperation on her face.

He laughed aloud.

Which was a mistake. Not because of the glare Ziva sent him—a glare that could rival Gibbs’—but because it drew his uncle’s attention. His uncle, who had been merrily laughing at an embarrassing story Aunt Nettie had just told from Ziva’s childhood.

Uncle Vinny clapped him on the back, barking out a laugh. He whipped out his cell phone, bringing up a picture of Tony, age 8, dressed up in the sailor suit his mother sometimes made him wear.

How on earth did the old guy manage to get that picture on his phone, when Gibbs barely knew how to reply to an email.

He looked up at Ziva, who was chuckling at his 8-year-old self. She turned her attention back to him, mischievous gleam in her eyes. He should’ve seen that coming. Tit for tat, and all that.

“Guess we should’ve known you’d end up at something Navy related like NCIS,” Uncle Vinny declared and clapped him on the shoulder good-heartedly.

Tony wasn’t feeling the love, though.

“NCIS?” Aunt Nettie said turning to her niece. “You worked with an NCIS agent on that Mossad mission in Europe, yes?”

Ziva’s eyes narrowed minutely as she touched her earlobe.

Tony’s gut churned. “I thought you said you were FBI?”

She looked at him sweetly. “I said I knew an FBI negotiator.”

Touché, he thought. “So who do you know at NCIS? I’ve probably heard of them, we’re like one big happy family,” he exaggerated.

“Probably,” Ziva replied with a smirk. “She is the new director.”

Tony’s interest piqued at the possibility of finally getting the dirt on what had happened between the boss and …the big boss.

“You two have so much in common,” Aunt Nettie said.

Tony tilted his head and was about to argue they knew almost nothing about each other, when she continued, “ I am getting tired.”

To Tony the old woman appeared more energetic than an 18-year-old at a rave party.

“It is time for my nap.” She looked across the table pointedly. “You look like you could use a nap, as well, Vinny.”

“What are you talking ab-“

There was nothing subtle about the look she gave his uncle, or the head tilt in his and Ziva’s direction.

“Oh…right.”

Tony quirked an eyebrow at Ziva when his uncle fake-yawned dramatically. The corners of her mouth twitched minutely before her poker face slid into place.

“Don’t mind us old folks, you kids talk some more. We’ll see you next week,” his uncle said as he and Aunt Nettie vigorously walked out of the cafeteria.

Tony sipped his now cold tea as the door closed behind them.

“Yeah, they looked really wrung out,” he said sarcastically.

Ziva frowned and glanced from him to the door and back.

He considered explaining the idiom, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“So, what’s your connection to the FBI?”

“That’s need to know,” Ziva said with a neutral expression, and she emptied her own cup of tea.

“Well, I need to know…”

 Ziva pursed her lips and sat up straighter.

Tony backtracked, clearly the direct approach wasn’t going to work with her.

”When you’ll be free,” he continued.  “So we can…discuss our relatives, and how we can prevent them from killing each other, or getting kicked out.”

Her probing gaze made him feel only mildly uncomfortable, this time.

“Hmm, that is disappointing.” Ziva stood up and locked eyes with him. “I thought you were interested in _more_ than talking.”

Tony shot out of his chair. “You know what.” He held up his hands and shrugged. “They’re both adults, they can handle their own problems.”

Ziva smirked, snatched his phone from the table, and entered her number before handing it to him wordlessly. She winked, grabbed her coat and walked off.

He twirled the phone in his hand, smiling wildly as he watched her slip on her coat and disappear through the door. Apparently, the direct approach did work, depending on the topic.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
